Midnight in Heliopolis
by A Girl Named Ethan
Summary: Lucid nightmares begin to cause disastrous results in the waking world after the Enterprise is tasked with delivering replacement equipment to the USS Bradbury. Spock must take command when Kirk is incapacitated and risks losing not one ship, but two. A eight-chapter piece that takes place after the events of "Into Darkness" and during the five-year mission. (Will have a sequel!)
1. Chapter 1

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter One**

_This story is set after the events of Star Trek: Into Darkness and may contain mild spoilers. Please keep this in mind when reading.  
It is also worthwhile to note that Betazed was admitted into the United Federation of Planets in 2273. As the Alternate Reality Star Trek is set in 2259, the Betazoid species would not yet have been widely known._

He staggered, fighting to maintain his balance. The deck under his feet pitched wildly, sending him down, hard enough to shatter his kneecap. He managed to make progress only thanks to lucky falls and dogged determination. The hand rails helped a little.

"Scotty!" The communicator chirped and received no response. "Spock! Bones!"

The deck bucked again, tossing him into a wall. He cried out in frustration more than pain. Pain wasn't a problem now, he'd found numb two decks ago.

"Someone, anyone, respond!"

Nothing. He growled and grabbed at the Jeffries tube manual door release. Not far now.

"Captain."

"Spock! God, where have you been?!" He pulled the access panel open.

"Captain." The ship rocked again, and the banshee wail of collapsing construction vibrates through the bulkheads. "The time is oh-three-thirty."

"What?" Kirk sputtered in confusion and froze. He started down the Jeffries tube. The crawlspace was completely dark, lit only by the sparks showering from an exploded flashes of light illuminated faces. Dead faces. Men and women. His mother. Father. Admiral Pike. Spock.

The colorless lips moved, though the glazed eyes simply stared at him. "Captain, can you hear me?"

* * *

Kirk jolted awake, tangled in sweat-drenched sheets. His blanket hung off the bed where it had been flung. He fought to extricate himself in a panic, leaping to his feet.

Spock stood near the door, hands hanging at his sides and one eyebrow arched straight up.

"Would I be correct in believing that you were experiencing a nightmare?"

Kirk panted, starting at his bed like it was a war zone that threatened a reenactment. "Yeah...Yeah, you could say that."

"You asked that I wake you when we were close to the rendezvous point. We are approximately two hours out from contact."

"Contact." Kirk's addled mind grasped at crumbs of memory. "Rendezvous?"

Spock's eyebrow remained arched. "Should I have waited?"

"What? No. No, this is fine, good timing, actually." More that his heart rate was finally slowing down, he could think. "Right. I'll be on the bridge in ten."

Spock nodded and turned to leave. Kirk took one more look at the chaos that was his bed, then stopped towards the refresher.

"Gah! Dammit!" He almost dropped.

"Captain, what is wrong?" Spock returned and knelt in front of his friend. Without requesting permission, he pulled up the loose pant leg. He exposed an ugly black, purple, and blue bruise covering the entire joint. "You appear to have injured yourself in your sleep."

"In my dream, Spock, I did that in my dream." Kirk grit his teeth and groaned. "Dammit, that hurts."

Spock stood. "Shall I arrange a transport to sickbay?"

"Bones is going to enjoy figuring this one out. No, I'll-" He paused, testing the joint. "Yeah, I can make it."

"I will accompany you." Typical Spock wasn't about to give him a choice.

Kirk retrieved a shirt, intending to return later for a shower and his uniform. Wouldn't do much good to put anything on while his skin beaded with drying sweat.

Spock called ahead, appraising Sickbay of their arrival. McCoy didn't answer, though the night-shift duty doctor confirmed that they would be ready. The corridors were deserted, so Kirk didn't have to worry about running into anyone he'd have to explain a bad dream to.

He hobbled past a very familiar access hatch. Spock noticed his recognition, but did not inquire. It took every ounce of Kirk's self-control to not stop an pop it open, just for a look-see. In the end, he just kept going.

McCoy was waiting for them, a smug smirk on his face. He looked fresh as a cottontail bunny, as if his state of early wakefulness was completely intentional. "Well, what exactly did you do to yourself? Get a little anxious with the food replicator?"

"I won't kick something that feeds me. Isn't that some rule somewhere?" He made his way to a bed.

"Hop up and let me get a look at it. The night-shift woke me up as soon as he heard a member of the senior command staff had been injured." McCoy grabbed a tricorder and diagnostic wand, waving it over the joint Kirk gestured to. "My God, man, what did you do?"

He set the equipment aside and pulled the point leg up. Now he was the one quirking an eyebrow.

"Congratulations, you've got a shattered patella. Calisthenics get a little heated?"

"I skipped calisthenics last night." Kirk admitted. "I've been exhausted lately."

"Now, when we're you going to tell me?" Out came the wand and tricorder again.

"Just haven't been getting a lot of sleep."

"Doctor, I would recommend examining his back as well." Spock spoke up, hands clasped behind him.

Kirk shot him a confused look and threw his arms up as McCoy circled the bed. His shirt was still wrapped around his head when Bones let out a whistle.

"What kind of dreams are you having?"

"What?"

Three large bruises spanned from his shoulder to his waistband. Rather than a deep, angry purple, the edges were starting to turn green.

"You've had these for a while. They're starting to heal."

"I had a dream a couple of nights ago, that I was trying to get to a Jeffries tube, but a beam feel on me. I woke up when the bulkhead exploded."

"Talk about apocalyptic." McCoy circled back around.

"Doctor, are we entertaining the possibility that-"

The doctor cut him off with a swipe. "Hold on, Spock, I haven't even finished scanning the captain for other injuries. Let's hold off on the entertainment for now."

Kirk glanced at Spock strangely. It was rare that the first officer would jump ahead like that. "Spock, what is it?"

"Have any other crewmembers reported strange injuries?"

McCoy shook his head. "Some sleeplessness, but nothing like this."

"Why, do you know something?" Kirk watched his friend's face as McCoy affixed a white alloy brace around his knee. Blue lights flashed on the interface.

"Nyota, too, has awoken with strange bruises that she cannot explain." Apparently, the domestic implications of his revelation were not lost on either of the others. Kirk grinned while McCoy just smirked. "Please refrain from any childish humor."

"No promises." The doctor pressed a hypospray against Kirk's though and released the contents with a hiss. "Leave the regenerator on for the day. Come back after duty shift today and we'll take another look at it. And yes, you can take it into the refresher. Make that your next stop. Doctor's orders."

The hypospray did its work quickly. Kirk was able to stand and pull his shirt back on.

"We have an hour and a half before the rendezvous, right?" He hobbled a bit at first.

Spock tipped his head at him. "Captain, the rendezvous is in twenty minutes."

"What? I had two hours just a few minutes ago."

"You insisted on stopping and staring at a manual access panel on the way here. Despite my urging, you remained in the corridor for a good hour."

Kirk blinked at him. "You're joking."

"Vulcans do not make idle jokes."

"Did you black out, Jim?" Now McCoy was more than simply curious.

"I swear, we came right here."

"Jim, I was able to get clean, dressed, and have a cup of coffee before you two finally showed up." He looked at Spock. "I was about to do a ship-wide scan to see if you'd gotten lost."

"I need to get a shower. The Bradbury is going to be waiting for us." Kirk groused, heading for the door. "We can figure this out later."

"Captain, if your cognitive functions are impaired-"

"I'll try to avoid eye contact with any Jeffries tubes."

Spock had to trot to catch up with him. Even with the bone-knitting regenerator, Kirk made long strides. The painkillers helped him walk off his frustration.

"Captain."

"I don't get it." He stopped suddenly in the middle of the hall, whirling around. "Do you think I'd get locked into this hypnosis every time I look at the thing?"

"I cannot answer that without first knowing what made it so captivating in the first place."

"In every dream, I'm trying to get there. And I never know what I need to do until I get there, but I always go the same way." They began to walk again, Kirk speaking in low tones. "Last night, I made it to the tube, finally, and-"

"And?"

"And it was stuffed full of bodies. My parents. Pike. You."

"I was present in your dream?"

"You were dead, but you were talking. Waking me up."

"Integration of external stimuli would imply that, while you are in this state of dreaming, you may be highly suggestible. Perhaps you are recalling a waking apprehension and it is causing you to sleepwalk or some other activity that results in these injuries."

"Does Uhura usually sleepwalk?"

He paused. "No."

"Has she been sleepwalking lately? More than usual?"

"As 'usual' is 'never,' then I must repeat myself."

"By the looks of my sheets, I may have been moving around, but I was tied up pretty good. I don't think I was exactly wandering around either."

"Would you like me to handle the transfer of resources to and from the Bradbury? It would give you time to assess this situation."

"No, I'll be there. Spock."

"Yes?"

"Are you going to follow me all the way into the refresher?"

Spock was so engrossed in the mystery at hand that he didn't register their return to Kirk's quarters. "It was not my intention."

"I'll see you on the bridge."

The Vulcan nodded and spun on one heel.


	2. Chapter 2

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Two**

"Good morning, _Enterprise_. We were starting to think you weren't going to show up." Captain Frank Abbott reclined in his command chair. Kirk had gotten just enough time to sit down before the screen lit up and stood again. His leg was bulky with the extra framework around his knee.

"Sorry for the delay, _Bradbury_. Had a small problem with one of our maintenance crawlspaces." Uhura shot Spock a look at that, and Chekhov started a bit, too. "We are ready to initiate transfer of resources whenever you're ready."

"Our cargo bays are clear."

"Chekhov, that's your queue."

"Aye, Keptin." The Russian paused, clearly wanting to ask about the comment. "_Bradbury_, ve are in communication with your cargo crew."

"All right, we'll let you know when we're checked out."

"_Enterprise_ out."

The screen blinked to stars and the vessel hovering just off their bow.

Kirk turned to join Spock at his station, taking the opportunity to rub his eyes. He had a headache starting, and he knew it was thanks to the crappy sleep he'd been getting. Spock brought up a schematic of the ship and zoomed in to the specific access port they'd apparently spent an hour in front of earlier.

"What's in there? I mean, I know, but the details escape me."

"Simple power modulator, tasked with maintaining the constant flow of power to the turbolift in that section, accessible for maintenance. There is nothing else of note in that certain tube that wouldn't be more convenient through other avenues."

"What would happen if it exploded?"

"The turbolift might lose steady power, but secondary systems would keep the lift itself active and usable."

Kirk started at the screen, reading through the descriptions of each pipe, wire, and conduit that ran past the panel that he remembered sparking. When he could make no sense of it, he moved up the schematic, searching for anything in the vicinity that might serve up a clue.

"Spock, can we-" By the faces of the bridge crew, he could only assume what had happened. McCoy jumped out of the 'lift. "How long this time?"

"An hour. The same duration of time as earlier."

"Dammit, I was hoping that he'd still be out when I got here. Next time, let me know earlier so I can get some readings." Bones grunted like a kid who had his new tricycle taken away on Christmas morning.

"Keptin, Doctor." Chekhov interjected, coming up behind Uhura, speaking insistently. "Dis may sound like a silly question, but do you have nightmares? A-and then wake up, vis strange bruises?"

"The ship is falling apart." Uhura chimed in.

"Collapsing." Kirk added to their meeting of the minds. "And I've got to get to the Jeffries tube."

"And when I get there-"

"Bodies." Uhura looked at Spock.

"My father. Uncle. Mister Spock. And you, Keptin."

"Wait. Spock is in all of our dreams."

Everyone looked at the Vulcan, who merely tipped his head. "Under any other circumstances, this might be grounds for flattery. However, I myself have not suffered any injuries or nightmares."

"So, what's different?"

Uhura shook her head. "My dreams started after we took on the cargo at the base."

"It vas about that time, yes. Keptin?"

Kirk shook his head. "I don't remember when they started. The new ones just kind of bled into the old."

"Are we carrying something dangerous?"

"Sir, according to ze manifest, it is just lab equipment. Replacements for components fried when a nebulae ignited too close to ze _Bradbury_'s shields."

"It is highly unlikely that the cargo is causing this phenomenon, as none of the components are self contained." Spock rotated his seat a bit to better see those assembled. "Few of them even have power, and those that do, are power cells themselves."

"Which aren't hooked up to anything. The whole shipment is inert." Uhura shrugged slightly.

"Do any of these things have chemicals, gases that could be leaking?" McCoy had finished a scan of Uhura and moved on to Chekhov.

"And only affect a few of us?" Kirk jerked a thumb at his second-in-command. "I don't think a gas could cause a shattered kneecap, Bones."

Uhura and Chekhov have him a strange look, and McCoy nudged the Russian's chin back around for optimal scan results. "So what do we think it is? If it's the cargo, shouldn't we warn the Bradbury?"

"The transfer has only just begun. Ve are checking the inventory at each step." Chekhov's voice was a little strained, caught between relaying information and keeping his head still.

"Why an hour..." Kirk pondered, resisting the urge to stare at the schematic again.

"What do we tell them? 'Excuse me, Captain Abbott, but we think one of those boxes is trying to maim the crew.' Yeah, that'll go over about as well as asking Santa Claus for a Red Rider BB Gun." McCoy released Chekhov. He motioned to Spock. "Your turn."

"I do not see how my inclusion in your medical scans will assist us in discovering the cause of this anomaly."

"Do I have to spell it out for you? You're center stage, and I want to know why."

Spock relented under protest. After he left his seat, Kirk stole a glance at the schematic again. A relatively harmless power modulator, lab components, too-real dreams: all pieces in a puzzle that made his headache worse. Leaning on the console, he tried going back through the dreams, to pick out specifics, but as most dreams, after a while, they tended to blur.

"Uhura, where did your first dream start?"

"The cargo bay with the shipment."

"Was the entire shipment there, or was it empty?"

"The bay was almost empty, Keptin. Except for one case. Large, blue, reinforced. Maybe there was a second one..."

"The power cells."

"Yes, and vhen ze ship began to shake, they..." He tried to explain what had happened in the dream, but Kirk and Uhura already knew what he meant. He could see the scene clearly now, parsing the details out from the miasma.

The case had simply lit up. When the blinding flash had faded, the entire ship was in flames or crumbling.

"Don't let them lock in the power cells." Kirk snapped. "Chekhov, tell them right now. Do not use the power cells."

"Aye, Keptin!" He whirled around and slid into his chair. Sulu, who had been listening to everything, gave the other officer a worried look.

"Captain." Uhura hissed suddenly. "Spock. Bring up a schematic of the _Bradbury_. See if there is a corresponding junction."

"Perhaps the dream did not reference our own ship." Spock raised an eyebrow at her and turned to his station. Between any other couple, that look might have been an appreciative smile or wink.

Kirk rubbed his eyes again. Damn headache was getting worse. In the dream, he had been just about to climb into the crawlspace. Then what?

"I've got an idea. Bones, come with me."


	3. Chapter 3

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Three**

Kirk tossed the blanket back on his bed, smoothing it out as best he could. McCoy gave the disheveled bedding a dubious look.

"Jim, why didn't you mention you were having nightmares?"

"They're nothing new, Bones. Been having them for a while."

"Have they been getting worse?"

"Yeah." He kicked off his boots and flopped down. "Since the whole Khan thing."

"The 'Khan Thing'?"

He gestured dismissively, but McCoy wasn't fooled.

"Hey, you went through a hell of an experience. No one can blame you for processing it in your own way." He dragged a chair over.

"Right, how many people can say they've died and lived to tell the tale?"

"Hilarious." McCoy quipped dryly.

"I'll tell you something, Bones." He paused, fingers laced behind his head, and started at the ceiling.

"Yeah?"

"Radiation is a bad way to go."

"Yeah."

They shared the silence for a bit, until Kirk started breathing a little more heavily, evenly. McCoy raised his tricorder and wand, just waiting for something to happen.

* * *

Spock's pale lips tried to form words out of sounds his dead throat could not provide. The Vulcan's body was packed in with the others', so tightly only his head and one shoulder showed. His hand lay against the groundwork platform, separated by charring at the wrist.

Kirk stood frozen at the access. He strained to make out what the dream Spock was trying to say. The ship vaulted underneath him, but clawed his way up into the claustrophobic tunnel.

The stench almost floored him, but he crawled deeper, lit only by the flames behind him and the sparks ahead. His skin, his muscles ached, burning from the inside, as though his bones were superheated. They felt weak, just as they had in the _Enterprise_'s core. He knew how much time he had.

A mighty buck sent him slamming into the roof and all the cables and supports that hung there. He groaned, grabbing his ribs with one arm. He was so close.

McCoy stared in disbelief, watching as Kirk's skin flushed a frightening red. The captain twisted, eyes screwed shut, his breathing breaking up into irregular gasps. He was having all the physical reactions to being too close to an inferno.

When Kirk cried out and curled up on his side, he leapt forward and yanked uniform shirt up. Over the three large bruises, new marks appeared, bleeding lacerations, scrapes with no discernible cause.

McCoy didn't know what to do.

Kirk pulled himself close to Spock, leaning in, uncomfortably close to the bloodless face. With each spark, he caught more and more of the mantra.

"Don't. Don't use. Don't use...What?" He grimaced, propping himself up on an elbow on the gridwork. "T...turbolift?"

The world began to crumble.

"Shit!"

* * *

"Bones! Don't let them put the power cells on the turbolift!"

McCoy shot straight up out of his seat at Kirk's yell. He slammed his fist into the comm on the desk.

"Uhura!"

"Is everything alright?"

"Tell the _Bradbury_ not to use the turbolift!"

* * *

The bridge crew waited for an eternity. Finally word came back in the form of Abbott, standing in the middle of his own bridge, arms crossed.

"I don't know what the hell just happened, but I'm sure glad it did."

"Is everything all right, Captain?" Spock took the bridge, standing behind Sulu and Chekhov.

"One of our turbolifts malfunctioned, the power modulator. At your warning, one of our engineers noticed that one of those power cells bound for Sickbay looked a little odd, so he took a glance at it."

"The cell was corrupted."

Captain Abbott glanced at the officer with a touch of surprise. "Low-grade degradation caused by contamination, accelerated by the transporter. I've never seen it before. Who knows what might have happened if it had gotten dropped, or worse, installed."

"We will have to file a report with Requisitions." Spock sounded as relieved as he could be. "I am glad it did not turn into an incident, Captain."

"As am I, Commander Spock. Where is Captain Kirk?"

Spock looked to Uhura, who shook her head. "He is predisposed, assisting the Chief Medical Officer in dealing with a medical emergency."

"Well, a real emergency is more important than a near miss." Abbott sat in his chair. "We will hold position until we can make a proper report and dispose of the corrupted cell properly."

"And we will remain to assist until our schedule demands otherwise." Spock nodded and the transmission ended. "Miss Uhura. Please contact Doctor McCoy and get a progress report."

* * *

"Gack! Dammit, Bones, can't you be a little gentler? I'm in pain over here!"

"You're the bright-eyed Rip Van Winkle that decided to take another nap." McCoy rolled his eyes and pushed another hypospray against his neck.

"Saved lives, didn't it?"

"Nothing is worth your whining." The doctor tapped the interface next to Kirk's Sickbay bed. "Just to be safe, I'm going to give you a sedative for tonight, to try to keep you from dreaming. I'm starting to worry that your little manifestations might get deadly."

"Like two broken ribs, a broken kneecap, and multiple lacerations doesn't count."

"The way you're going on, you'd think you caught _y. pestis_." The door hissed open behind him.

"I can return later if you are discussing personal health information, though should the Captain suddenly become a victim of the Black Plague, it would be advantageous for his first officer to be advised."

"Spock!" Kirk sounded overjoyed to see him. "What happened?"

"Narrowly avoided great damage to the _Bradbury_, courtesy of a contaminated power cell." The science officer approached the bed and stood calmly at its side. "The shared dreams seemed to have come at a very fortuitous time."

"Contaminated? What caused it?"

"Unknown."

"I'm going to recommend sedatives for the affected, but I have a feeling that we won't see those lucid buggers again anytime soon." The doctor interjected.

"On what evidence do you base this conclusion?"

"Oh, hell, how do you explain a gut instinct to a computer?" McCoy muttered and took his tricorder to his desk, to compare the readings. Spock looked down at the reclining Kirk.

"Saved the day again." He grinned.

"What you did was reckless. As your first officer, Captain, I must remind you that your duty is not to throw yourself headlong into danger before anyone else has a chance to."

"It turned out fine."

"And one day, it may not."

"When we hit that, you can say 'I told ya so.' until then, just enjoy the fact that we avoided a completely spontaneous accident, one that would have caused meaningless deaths." Kirk rubbed at his ribs.

"In turn, possibly causing your own."

"Dammit, Spock, you sound like a skipping holonovel."

Spock pondered this for a moment. "I find out curious that we still do not know what caused these dreams."

"Bones is going to be taking constant brain scans all day while we're under sedation. Hopefully, that'll shed some light on it. If nothing else, they might just go away with the cargo."

"And if they do not?"

Kirk was silent for a moment, then shrugged. "Still don't know, Spock. We'll have to figure it out."

Spock stepped away to join McCoy at his desk. "Anything new to report, Doctor?"

"Eh, nothing that makes any sense. Look at this." He tapped the screen. "The only difference between conscious, dreaming, and what I assume to be trance is this part of the brain, here. It gets all excited, starts sending out fireworks."

Spock studied the image of the Captain's brain without comment. McCoy shrugged and continued.

"Could be nothing. I'll have to send out a shipwide notice, get all our dreamers in here for some naptime scans."

"Alert me when you have any new information."


	4. Chapter 4

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Four**

McCoy leaned over his screens, glancing up at the bank of full beds. Kirk, Uhura, Chekhov, and about seven others ranging from red-shirted security to a blue-shirted member of his own medical staff took their places along the wall. His own screen had their waking scans on one side, and their live, sleeping activity on the other. Some, he had sedated.

He scrolled through each screen, keeping an eye on that small segment of brain. No one seemed to be kicking off any celebrations just yet.

A beep caught his attention, going off as soon as an ensign twitched. Just a hypnagogic myoclonus, muscle contraction, probably because the man was going through his sleep cycles again and just about to hit REM. Usually, it woke the sleeper up, but this man continued his descent.

Bones made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. As with Kirk, this ensign had come in with a myriad of lacerations and bruises, both external and internal, though the Captain kept the lead with the most colorful variety of injuries.

Another beep and, this time, Uhura twitched. She was just about to start a new REM phase, too.

Going through the scans, he saw two more about to hit the same transition between delta sleep and REM. He stared across the room, waiting, daring them to—

They both twitched.

"Damn." He picked up his tricorder and wand. Each hypnagogic myoclonus occurred in their right hand, what that meant, he had no clue. And that frustrated him. He moved on to those who hadn't twitched yet. He was passing the wand over Chekhov's right arm when the hypnic twitch hit.

The Russian's hand didn't just jerk a little, but spasmed into a full fist. His skin flushed red.

McCoy sprinted back to his computer with two long strides, pulling up Chekhov's scans. Fireworks. Whatever was happening in there had overpowered the sedation.

"Spock."

"Commander Spock here, Doctor. What is your status?"

"Might want to come down here. I've got some new inform—my God, man, were you just waiting on the other side of the door?"

The Vulcan stepped into the Sickbay midway through the summons, hands behind his back.

"I was coming to keep myself up to date on your progress. Should I leave and return?"

"Get over here."

He complied.

"Looks like I was wrong." Bones started scrolling through side-by-side comparative scans. "Right before going into REM sleep, each person had a muscle twitch in their right hand. They all were sedated." He pointed to the segment of brain. "Like it didn't even matter."

"The activity has increased."

"Like I said, fireworks. Firing at twice, three times the normal activity level."

Spock looked immediately to Kirk, Uhura, Chekhov.

"The only one that didn't twitch was Kirk."

He raised an eyebrow.

"It could have been the muscle relaxants I gave him for his knee repair."

"Perhaps these 'twitches' are the body's reaction to the imminent nightmare."

"And you think Jim is just 'used to them'?"

"Can you confirm that Captain Kirk is indeed resting in his REM phase?"

Bones nodded.

"Curious."

"What's even more curious is this." Banishing the scans for a moment, a zoomed-in image of Chekhov's hand blinked up. "Watch."

The Vulcan's eyebrow perked again. "Violent."

"These muscle spasms are directly linked to the brain activity. Hell, I'm surprised he didn't wake up."

"Would he normally have?"

"Without question."

"Were you able to ascertain the function of this section of the brain."

"Ah, don't get ahead of me." Bones pulled up a new screen. "What do you see?"

"Is this a quiz of some sort, Doctor?"

"Humor me."

Spock studied the image. "The Captain's brain."

"And Uhura's. Chekhov's. Brush's. Duncan's. Et cetera."

"All humans."

"Now this one."

Spock paused. "A Vulcan brain. My own."

"Right. Now, tell me, what does this part of the Vulcan brain do?"

Spock was sure the doctor already knew the answer, but he had agreed to humor him. "It is the catalyst for psionic techniques."

"Look familiar?"

The next few screens intrigued Spock, and the Vulcan leaned into the console, watching the overlay. A brain scan of a Vulcan in the midst of a mind meld, neurons firing furiously, casting off fireworks.

"Their brains are reacting to psionic stimulus."

"Bingo."

"How?"

"No idea."

Spock straightened up. "These crewmembers are suffering from some sort of continuing interference?"

"Something is only affecting them while they sleep. I've gotta assume that means it's passive. Their brains are too active while they're awake." McCoy crossed his arms. "And unless you've been sneaking in to give the mind melds when I'm not looking, I've got to assume that you're not the cause."

"I appreciate the gesture of trust."

"Don't mention it."

"Is the cause of this interference is still on the ship?"

"Either it is, or the corrupted power cells caused it somehow and the affect is lingering."

"Have any other crewmembers begun reporting ill health?"

The doctor shook his head, gesturing to the bay of sleepers. "This is it. Ten people."

Spock went silent, musing.

"And before you ask, no, I don't know if the interference is fading. I just found out about it this morning, and I haven't had time to get more than a couple REM cycles out of each person."

"Can this state be managed?"

"State of what? Brain interference?" The suggestion of maintaining rather than curing ruffled McCoy's feathers a bit. "It'd be like having a busted radio. Static spiking every time the rest of the system goes silent."

"But when they are awake, are they fit for duty?"

"I haven't exactly tested Jim to see if he feels like locking eyes with a Jeffries tube now that the power cells are gone."

Silence again. "Vulcan pondering" silence.

"Dammit, man, I've got training in space psychology, but I'm not a trained psionic-therapist. Best I can figure, it was the object of his dream and his brain was trying to make sense of it, so it tunneled down until that's all he was processing. Now that it's been resolved, how he reacts is up in the air."

"Understood."

"That said, he seemed to be the only person who was losing time."

"Meaning the Captain may be the only person who is affected by this anomaly while fully conscious."

"Right."

"Provided this interference does not increase, the others should be unaffected while awake."

"Spock, I don't know. If his blacking-out is a symptom of a more advanced stage of psionic interference, sure, but it might not be. He might be manifesting this 'static' in a different way, which means anyone could start doing it, at any time."

"You are correct. I was making a derivation based on unfounded evidence and assumptions."

"No one is perfect."

The two men went silent again, though this was not a "thinking" silence. This was an "uncomfortable contemplation of ramifications" silence. Spock turned and headed for the door.

"Please keep me informed as to your progress, Doctor."

"Spock, I'll do what I can as fast as I can." McCoy leaned on his desk. "You know that. Give me a day. I'll need at least that long to get the information I need."

"I will refrain from making any more premature judgments, Doctor. Thank you."

* * *

Chekhov sat on his bed and yawned, stretching his arms overhead. Some of the others were still sleeping, rolled onto their sides, other beds were empty. Doctor McCoy had released those that awoke back to their quarters, with instructions not to remove a small metal implant on their temples. He was familiar enough to know that it was a scanning transmitter.

It stung when McCoy pressed it into his skin, but it was a small price.

"Is zhere anything I need to do still, Doctor?"

"Hold your horses, I'm calibrating."

The other sleepers had shifted or moved in their sleep, except for Kirk. McCoy had made a comment about him finally calming down. To Chekhov, the Captain looked like he was the sleeping dead. He was flat on his back, one hand resting on his stomach.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Mister Chekhov?" McCoy sounded irritated.

"I am sorry, never mind."

The Southern American sighed. "I'm not frustrated with you. What is it?"

"The Keptin. Vill he be all right?"

"I don't know yet."

"Is he breathing?"

"Of course he's bre—" McCoy paused and stared at Kirk, skirting his desk, trusty tricorder in hand. Chekhov waited. "I'll be damned. His breathing is slowing. How the hell did you see that?"

The Russian whizkid had no words.

"Looks like he's actually getting rest now." He looked up at the yellow-shirted young man. "You noticed a change in his breathing from all the way over there."

"Yes, sir."

"Seventeen?"

"Yes, sir!"

McCoy eyed him up and down. "Right."

"Am I free to go?"

He waved him off. "Yes, report back to me if you notice anything else."

Chekhov hopped off the bed and made tracks for the door. He wanted to get back in the navigator's seat before anything else happened. The corridor was thankfully more neutral than the sterile white Sickbay. Bones was still leaning over Kirk when the door hissed shut behind him.

Out of curiosity, he stopped at a Jeffries tube hatch and checked his chronometer. Waiting for the foot traffic to pass, he stared at it, willing himself to fall into the same trance that Kirk had.

"Watch out."

A two-man engineering team pushed a lev-cart burdened with a stack of silver cases past him, and he had to dodge out of the way. He checked his chronometer again.

Thirty seconds.

"Dem it." He sighed.

"Oi! What's got you lookin' all harried?" Scottish brogue, amused.

"Ah. Chief Scott!"

"Aye. You look like you've seen better days. What's this now?" Scotty reached up and tapped the neural scanner still attached to the Russian's temple.

"Ze power cell, strange nightmares." Chekhov gestured, unsure of how exactly to shove the last day into words.

"I've been watchin' chatter 'cross the ship."

"I do not even know vhere to begin to explain."

"Well, I've got an idea. We start walkin'. You talk, I'll listen. Howsat?"

He nodded.

"Right then. Heading to your cabin? Lounge?"

"I vas hoping to go back to duty."

"We kin walk there, too."

The two men walked side-by-side, taking the "scenic route" up to the bridge and pausing frequently. Scotty listened intently, frowning when Chekhov pulled up his sleeve to show a dark bruise on his forearm. The Russian spoke animatedly, filling him in about the nightmares, injuries, the incident with the _Bradbury_, and now, that they were lingering because of the Captain being incapacitated.

"And here I was hopin' it'd just be the _Bradbury_ needin' a little help from yours truly." Scotty sighed.

"Do you sink ze _Bradbury_ vill be affected, too?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"If ze power cell was ze cause, it should be over, yes?"

"Right." Scotty peered at the neural scanner for a moment. Chekhov glanced to the side, as if he could see it, too. "Do y'think the bridge'd miss ya for a bit?"


	5. Chapter 5

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Five**

McCoy sighed, hands folded at his chin, watching his one remaining patient. Everyone else had been outfitted with neural scanners and sent off, either to bed or back to their duties. Even Uhura, whose bags under the eyes screamed "exhausted", had disappeared from his care.

Kirk hadn't really seemed too tired when he first saw him this morning. A little run down, sure, but not enough for him to still be sleeping. The sedative had long since flushed out of his system, and the muscle twitches had continued to get stronger.

Once, his right hand and head jerked to the side, then settled, and that was that. The fireworks in his brain sparked brightly, and the EEG screamed that something was going on in his head. No matter what he tried, he still couldn't see what Kirk was seeing, and no new injuries were manifesting. The REM cycle would pass without so much as an eye flutter, despite the thunderstorm that the equipment claimed raged inside.

McCoy had gotten good enough that he could predict each hypnagogic myoclonus. Kirk's next one was due in about twenty minutes.

The chronometer stated that the duty shift changeovers were coming up soon. He'd been staring at brain scans off and on since oh-five-hundred, and steadily since oh-seven-hundred. He was still debating actually going off-duty or just ordering another mug of coffee.

"Doctor McCoy." The communicator chirped.

"McCoy here."

"The _Bradbury_ has informed us that one of their crew has fallen ill."

"Same symptoms?" Bones stood.

"Correct."

"I want him over here so I can perform comparative analysis."

"I will request this of Captain Abbott. Stand by."

The line went dead and McCoy glanced at Kirk. Still motionless.

Chirp. "Doctor."

"Haven't moved, Spock."

"Captain Abbott informs me that he will allow the transfer of his crewmember providing he and his chief medical officer are kept apprised of all changes."

"I'll take care of that."

"Transporter room two, Doctor, if you please."

"On my way." McCoy waved over one of the nurses. "If he so much as twitches—more than once—I want to know about it immediately."

* * *

Spock monitored the transfer from the captain's chair. They were still waiting word back from Starfleet and the Requisitions corps. The power cell had been neutralized without issue, but still one of the Bradbury's engineers had lost exactly an hour and been found staring at his teleporter console.

"McCoy to Bridge."

"Go ahead, Doctor."

"Are they going to send him over any time soon?"

"There has been an unknown delay. I will inform you as soon as I understand what the problem is." He closed the channel and opened a new one. "_Enterprise_ to _Bradbury_, this is Commander Spock. Please advise on your delay."

"Chief Engineer Harbrook here, Commander. Ensign Rice isn't cooperating."

"Explain."

"Well, sir, she…freaked out. Refused to step onto the pad, threw a couple punches."

"Is he—she—a risk?"

"Never has been before, Commander."

"I will send Security to the transporter room. Doctor McCoy." Spock cut off the _Bradbury_'s engineer.

"What's going on?"

"Ensign Rice is showing signs of extreme agitation and aggression. I am sending a security team to—"

The channel cut out, interrupting him. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Dammit. Spock, have security bring Rice straight to Sickbay! And for God's sake, don't sedate her!"

"Your voice is suddenly very agitated, Doctor. Is everything all right?"

Uhura and the rest of the bridge crew looked to him as soon as they heard McCoy's curse. He sounded like he was running.

"Kirk is having an episode. McCoy out."

* * *

The woman he faced was falling apart. She lunged at him, her red uniform torn and crumbling like desiccated paper. Her eyes flashed with fear.

"Don't let them do it."

Her lips started to lose color, to go white. Her fists twisted into his shirt, holding onto him for dear life.

He grabbed her face, watched her eyes start to cloud over.

"Please…" She begged, shaking him.

"What's going on? What's happening?"

"They're trying to kill me." Her eyes widened. She stared at him with white orbs.

"Who is? Who is trying to kill you?" He demanded. Something cracked.

A swirling barrage of lights began to dance around her legs. She stumbled. He fell with her. A crack broke across her face, like bad plaster.

The lights crawled up her body, swirled around her head. She screamed and shattered.

A hurricane-force wind wore each particle away, grinding the woman down to dust. He could barely catch his breath.

His hands started to crumble and crack.

* * *

Kirk bolted straight up. "Don't put her on the transporter."

McCoy stared at him in complete disbelief. "What?"

"It's going to kill her." He grabbed Bones by the sleeve. "It's going to kill her!"

"McCoy to transporter room two, cancel the teleport! Leave her on the _Bradbury_!"

"I'm sorry, sir, the transport is in progress!"

"Send her back, God dammit! Don't allow her to—"

The sound of a feminine scream echoed through the communicator. A man yelped "holy shit!" and a struggle broke out.

"Shit." McCoy spun, not realizing until they were out in the hall that Kirk was right on his heels. It wouldn't do any good to tell him to go back.

The two men sprinted down the corridors, matched in a dead heat. The door to the transporter room was open, and men stood silently.

A woman in a red uniform lay face-down on the deck. Blood pooled from her eyes and ears.

"What the hell happened!" McCoy demanded.

One of the security men spoke first. "She went crazy!"

McCoy knelt.

"We couldn't stop her, she just bolted for the door."

Kirk watched and waited, chest heaving as he caught his breath. The bone regeneration brace on his leg had slowed him down physically. McCoy looked up at him and shook his head.

"She's dead, Jim."


	6. Chapter 6

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Six**

"What caused the Ensign's death?"

"Aneurysm." McCoy grumbled, refusing to make eye contact with either Kirk or Spock.

Captain Abbott, however, stared at him from the screen. "One of my crewmembers just died aboard your ship, Lieutenant Commander McCoy. I'm sure you can give me a little more information than that."

"I'm sorry, Captain, but it's just what happened." McCoy pulled up an image on the screen, shared it across the comm. "You see the area there? That's normally not active. A few members of our own crew have been exhibiting the same symptoms. I'm not sure why or even how, but Ensign Rice must have been suffering the same abnormal activity."

"What draws you to that conclusion?"

"That's where the aneurysm happened."

Kirk looked at Spock, unconsciously bringing his hand to his head. "Doctor, did the teleporter do this?" Kirk asked, loud enough that Abbott could hear.

"I'm not going to jump to any conclusions." McCoy's voice rumbled low. "But if you're asking if 'this,' meaning the aneurysm, then yes."

"Are the teleporters _causing_ this?" Kirk pressed.

"I do not believe so, Captain." Spock finally interjected. "The power cell was already corrupted, how we do not know, before being teleported to the _Bradbury_. We can assume that the Ensign's brain was equally as corrupted before she, too, was teleported."

"An outside source."

"That coincidentally occurred as soon as we left the Starbase to deliver these supplies."

"So whatever is causing these psionic disturbances is still here."

"I believe so."

"Can psionic interference corrupt a power cell, though?" Kirk rubbed his neck. His eyes were already red from the strange sleep schedule.

"Energy is energy, Captain." Abbott spoke up, interjecting from the screen.

"Is it that simple?" Kirk looked unconvinced.

"The power cell, nightmares and precognition—" McCoy garnered a few odd looks for his use of that word, "—and now the Ensign's death are too coincidental. Captain Abbott, I would recommend that all teleporter use be cancelled for all affected personnel until we can figure out what's causing this."

"Sound advice, Doctor McCoy. Keep us apprised. Meanwhile, we'll start working on our end."

"Let us know what you find, Captain."

"You do the same, Captain. _Bradbury_ out."

The screen blinked back to the basic Sickbay interface.

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy stood and exchanged looks, each expecting the others to speak.

"So."

"So, what did we bring onboard at the Starbase that could possibly be causing this?" Kirk looked from McCoy to Spock.

"Chief Engineer Scott performed an inventory when transporting the cargo over to the _Bradbury_." Spock stated, hands behind him. "Because of the Ensign's affliction, we can safely conclude that the source was included in the cargo."

"And it'd have to be on that list."

"No one on the _Enterprise_ started showing symptoms of whatever this was until days after we left the Starbase." McCoy crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. "They've had the cargo for a matter of hours."

"Perhaps the teleporter increased the source's intensity, like it accelerated the degradation of the power cell and the Ensign's brain." Spock studied Kirk's face.

"So what, it's a ticking time bomb? And we gave it to them?" McCoy didn't like the sound of that.

"I will retrieve the inventory list from Chief Engineer Scott and begin an investigation to determine which of the components is the source."

"Spock, hold on." Kirk held up his hand. "Bones, Spock isn't affected by this, is he?"

He shook his head. "Not that I've seen. He has no signs, no symptoms."

"Spock, you're the only one that can use the teleporter, then. Or hell, take a shuttlecraft for all I care, but listen." Kirk took a breath. "You'd be going over to the _Bradbury_ with no backup."

"The _Bradbury_ is a Starfleet ship, under the same protocols and expectations as the _Enterprise_." Spock raised an eyebrow. Despite his protests, he seemed to be understanding what Kirk was implying.

"What I saw in that dream was unreal. She was frantic to the point of violence."

"She didn't exactly give our Security officers a hug when she landed, either."

"Exactly, Bones. What I'm saying is, watch your back. Find someone to take with you."

"I will maintain suitable levels of awareness and exercise caution in my search."

"Good." Kirk sighed and took a step back.

"Jim." McCoy eyed him.

"I'm fine, Bones." He waved him off.

"Captain. I will return as soon as possible."

Kirk could only nod as Spock disappeared through the Sickbay doors.

"Jim, you look like hell."

"I feel like hell. There for a while, I felt like I was getting good sleep. Then…man, I don't know, but it came out of nowhere. I went from warp nine to zero." He started to rub his face.

"What happened?"

"I saw her fall apart. She just turned white and crumbled."

"So you knew it was a she."

"Yeah."

"Jim, until we were about to bring her over, we all thought Ensign Rice was a man. You knew without knowing."

"It was just a dream, Bones."

"Normally, I wouldn't be surprised about you dreaming of women. What did she look like?"

"Medium blond hair, tied back low. Uh, green eyes, I think. I didn't see much of them before they went white."

"Tall, short?"

"Shorter than me."

"Uniform color?"

He sighed. "Yeah, red. Like the Ensign."

"Yeah, you saw Ensign Rice. Either that or you're just a ball of coincidences."

"What do you think it is, Bones?"

"I haven't got a clue." He shook his head, but Kirk knew the man well enough to be able to tell when he was holding something back. "You need to stay awake, Jim. I'd rather you stay here where I can watch you, but that probably won't happen."

"Actually, I _might_ just stay here. Keep you company."

McCoy smirked. "Now, I know you're dying."

* * *

"Ve should recalibrate ze sensor to focus between one and four hertz."

"I think we can narrow that down a bit, lad. I'd say half a hertz to two, at most."

"Gentlemen. What are you doing?"

"Ah, Mister Spock!" Scotty looked up from the pile of pieces he was reassembling. It looked like it had been a tricorder in a former life, but was now half a tricorder, half a neural scanner.

Chekhov was still rubbing his temple where they'd pulled he scanner free. "Ve are attempting to modify a tricorder zhat can pick up zese psionic waves."

"Have you had any success?" The Vulcan watched as Scott closed the casing. Now the device simply looked normal, unassuming.

"Ve believe so."

"Usin' the neural scanner provided by Doctor McCoy, we were able to integrate its built-in processes to the broader, more general engineering tricorder." Scott held it up in example. "Now, because of the neural scanner, we narrowed down the tricorder's range to be very specific. The information will be routed through the neural scanner and transmitted directly to the ship's computers. Specifically, Doctor McCoy's console in Sickbay, from anywhere on the ship."

"Will it work on another ship?"

Scott's grin faded slightly. "Why in hell would you take it to another ship?"

"We have reason to believe that the source of these disturbances was transported to the _Bradbury_."

"Och, damn." Scott handed the tricorder to Spock. "Will ye be takin' anyone else with you?"

"I volunteer, sir." Chekhov piped up.

"Mister Chekhov, that would not be wise."

"The Keptin is in danger, and you should not go alone. Please, I vant to help."

"While I admire your loyalty and initiative, I was informed by the Doctor that anyone previously affected by this source has the potential of suffering irreparable brain damage as a result of teleportation."

That took Chekhov aback. He looked hurt, but not by Spock's words.

"Well, hell, I kin go." Scott shrugged. "I ain't been havin' any nightmares. Haven't dreamt much at all lately."

"This energy affects humans in specific, Mister Scott."

"Ah, but it affects delta waves."

"Pardon?"

Scott held up a hand and pulled up a screen. "From what I got out of the neural scanner 'fore I popped it off his noggin was this: this type of psionic energy affects human delta waves because it's resonatin' on the same frequencies. Which is why it's manifestin' in dreams, nightmares. The source could be artificial or natural, but the only reason we're noticin' it is because it just so happens to be matching up with our natural frequencies."

"What conclusion does this bring you to, Mister Scott?"

"I'm glad ye asked. Human delta waves are suppressed by certain chemicals and the long-term ingestion of such chemicals."

Spock studied him. "Provided your eagerness to volunteer, I can assume that this 'chemical' you are referring to is alcohol?"

"Aye. Even after long-term abstinence, delta waves kin still be repressed."

"Are you sure? Zhat is not exactly mechanical engineering."

"Och, a proper engineer understands what his Scotch does to him. Good way to avoid the swill and gutrot."

Spock sounded slightly amused. "Mister Scott, are you suggesting that the reason you were unaffected by this psionic interference is because you imbibe alcohol on a regular basis."

"Ye-up."

"Are you an alcoholic, Mister Scott?"

"No, sir. Just uniquely suited to this mission."

That took the Vulcan a few minutes to process.

"So does that mean I'm goin'? After all, you need someone who knows the cargo."

"That alone would have been reason enough for you to accompany me, Mister Scott, but I appreciate your candidness in regards to your unique qualifications. Report to the Doctor to confirm that you have no abnormal brain activity and meet me in transporter room two."

Scott bounced to his feet. Chekhov still looked disappointed, rubbing at his temple distractedly.

"Mister Chekhov."

"Aye, Commander?" He, too, hopped to his feet.

"Please inform Mister Sulu that he has command of the ship while I and Mister Scott are away. You are to hold position as long as possible, but should something happen on the _Bradbury_, you are ordered to pull the ship back to a safe distance."

"Safe distance?"

"There is a chance that we may be unsuccessful in our endeavor and this disturbance may grow stronger."

Chekhov nodded quickly. "Aye, sir!"


	7. Chapter 7

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Seven**

Kirk leaned over McCoy's shoulder, watching the screen with tired eyes. He'd refused more pain killers. Right now, the throbbing in his back, knee, head, his _everything_ was the only thing keeping him awake.

McCoy noticed him wavering on his feet, but was waved off.

"What are we looking at?"

"Spock and Scott are arriving on the _Bradbury_ now. Captain Abbott is extending them full access of the ship, and they'll have security men with them at all times."

"Humans?"

"I mentioned that to the ship's doctor over there. He's scanning the guards and only sending the ones that are so far unaffected."

"Could just give them a shot of scotch."

"I recommended that, but apparently drinking on the job is frowned upon in Starfleet, who knew?"

"I guess we're lucky that Scotty is a veteran." Kirk's vision blurred a bit. He sighed. "Can I get a coffee?"

McCoy grumped at him. "Of course you can have a damned cup of coffee. At least sit down." The doctor stood and gestured to the seat. "Takes less energy than standing."

Kirk sank into the chair and held his head in his hands. McCoy's façade of irritation faded into a look of concern for his friend as he went to retrieve a mug. The doctor never took his eyes off the man, not for a second, unwilling to chance another kind of attack or collapse.

"Here." It seemed like only a second passed before the mug of hot, black coffee was pushed into Kirk's hands.

"Thanks. How's Uhura, Chekhov?"

"They're fine, fine enough to actually go on duty. Talk to me. How are you feeling?"

Kirk looked up at him, expecting a tricorder. "I'm tired. Why isn't anyone else affected like this?"

"Well, from what Scott mentioned before taking off on his mission to save the world, this thing, whatever it is, affects the human brain via delta waves."

"I thought you said it was psionic energy."

"It is, operating on a similar frequency as a human's own natural brain waves, specifically, the ones responsible for deep sleep and dreaming."

"Doesn't everyone have delta waves?"

"Yes, but I think you've got a pretty good idea why you're a little further down the road than the others."

The captain looked at the doctor, leaning back in the chair. His voice was quiet when he finally answered. "My nightmares."

"Exactly. You've been having REM disruption so often for so long thanks to your nightmares that this interference affected you more than it would a healthier individual."

"Why was anyone else affected at all?"

McCoy shrugged. "Everyone has nightmares, disrupted sleep patterns. I don't know for sure, and probably never will, why the other nine people suffered the same, to different degrees."

Kirk took a long drink of the coffee and winced. "Any idea why we're getting these bruises? A dream shattered my kneecap, for crying out loud."

"I haven't a clue."

"You were throwing the term 'manifested' around earlier. You have to have some idea."

McCoy shook his head. "I think you're doing it to yourself. These dreams must be so damned believable that—"

"What?"

"Spock to _Enterprise_ Sickbay."

McCoy reached over and hit the console. "McCoy here, Spock. Kirk is with me."

"Mister Scott and I have begun recovering the cargo. So far, nothing seems to be broadcasting this psionic energy."

"Can we narrow down what it might be?" McCoy frowned. "Make it easier?"

"Aye, Doctor." Scott's voice. "We're going to start with the other power cells. If one was corrupted, one of the others might have caused it."

"So much for regulation shielding. Jim?" Kirk's shoulders were slumped, the mug of coffee on the desk next to his hands. He shifted and waved the doctor's attention off.

"What is the Captain's status, Doctor?"

"He's not going to be able to stay awake much longer unless I hit him with some pretty powerful adrenals. Which I'd rather not do if the latter stages of this whole thing is violent paranoia."

"We will hurry. Spock out."

* * *

Scott was already scanning a power cell. Most of them had been retrieved after the near catastrophe and stood side by side in front of their blue, reinforced transport crate. Spock looked over the rows and rows of recollected supplies, each laid out separately, none stacked.

"We have quite a few more cases to go, Mister Scott."

"An' only one scanner, I know." He moved onto the last. "Gotcha."

"You found it?"

"I found somethin'." Scott squinted at the readout, despite the perfectly legible size. "Wait a bloody minute…"

"Mister Scott?"

"Readin' more of the same degradation in this one, Commander." The engineer knelt next to it and pulled open a panel. Spock watched as the center lid on the cylindrical device popped open and the yellow lights indicating the stability of the cell began to pulse slowly.

Scott reached inside and thumbed a release. A center tube slid up and out of the power cell. Inside the clear tube, where the processing computer hung suspended, was caked in dark red, brown staining.

"Is tha' what I think it is?"

Spock knelt, a traditional tricorder in his hand. "It appears to be blood."

"Blood? What the hell is tha' doin' inside a power cell computer circuit?" Scott pulled it the rest of the way out and found hairs trapped in the smallest edges.

"It appears that someone was wounded, and this core was the cause of injury. I am also reading brain matter and skull fragments."

"Someone was beaten to death with this thing?"

"We will not know for sure until we get it back to the _Enterprise_."

"Is tha' such a good idea? How would it affect the Captain? An' the rest of the crew?"

Spock paused, but Scotty continued.

"I've seen many an accident in engineering, an' no matter how many times someone bumps their head on a bulkhead or cuts themselves on a piece of metal, the ship's warp drive has never turned into a brain-fryin' beacon." He stood, holding up the computer core. "There's more here, sir. I know it."

"Keep searching. I will contain this unit and mark it for investigation."

Scott nodded and moved onto the next case. And the next.

The longer they searched, the more agitated the guards became. More than once, Spock overheard them speaking about the possibility of never sleeping again. The idea, once humorous, was becoming more and more of an option, however non-viable.

Two engineers pushed a very large case into the cargo bay. It was a good bit larger than a tall man laying down. "That's it, Commander. That's the last of the dispersed supplies."

Scott gave the case an odd look, and Spock followed his gaze. "What is it, Mister Scott?"

"Eh, don't know yet. Color looks a little…off."

The bottom corner of the case was discolored.

"What is supposed to be inside?"

Scott consulted the manifest. "Eh. Looks like a replacement surgical biobed for their Sickbay. Theirs must have been fried when the nebula ignited."

"Has it been opened?"

"No." Scott set the tricorder aside and started working on breaking the seals. "Requisition's locks are still firmly in place. We must have interrupted the _Bradbury_ before they could install it."

The two men heaved on the unlocked lid, shoving it open. Scott recoiled at the smell.

"We seem to have discovered our victim."

The surgical biobed was a large bed meant for examinations, surgeries, and other matters of life-support. As the main feature of many sickbays, it stood upon a high pedestal. Scott and Spock could see, in the shadow cast by the cargo bay's lights, a crumpled figure laying tucked underneath.

Spock leaned in with the tricorder, and Scott paused him with a hand on the shoulder. "Be careful. Look." He pointed to the biobed's interface, which though dim, was still active. "This thing has been on this entire time. Could be shortin' out."

Spock nodded and watched the tricorder's display. "I am unfamiliar with this being's species, though this scan indicates that it is likely male, humanoid, and very dead."

"Whacked on the head, I bet ya."

"You would be correct. Massive cranial trauma, resulting in severe damage to the brain."

"Poor bastard got jumped and dumped." Scott covered his mouth with a sleeve. "Y'think someone at Requisitions did this?"

"Of that, I am unsure. What I do know is that he is the source of the psionic energy."

"How can that be? He's dead."

"Again, I do not know." Spock started to sound a bit irritated.

"Should we risk pulling him out of there?"

"Let us examine a little more closely. I require light."

Scott motioned to one of the guards, who carried a wrist-mounted torch. The man passed it to him uneasily, morbid curiosity no match for the putrid smell.

Spock took the light and cast it into the case. A humanoid figure lay on its side, eyes open, face covered in dried blood. The man's fingers on his right hand were tangled in the circuitry hidden in the pedestal base.

"It appears that he activated the biobed before he expired."

"So it's been running on emergency backup power this entire time."

"Indeed. Though I am unsure as to this being's motivations."

The man's eyes were dark, the irises a black or very deep brown. His hair, what wasn't missing, was dark and curly, and his skin fair and clear. He was dressed in recognizable civilian clothing. All of these details and more Spock perceived and memorized, relegating them to the back of his mind.

"Not human? Sure looks human. Doesn't have any brow ridges or ears." Scott commented from behind, though Spock gave him a raised eyebrow.

"Can you disable the bed's internal power?"

"I can sure try. Hand me tha' torch."

* * *

Kirk's headache ceased. Disappeared. Gone. He looked up at McCoy. McCoy looked back at him.

Kirk smiled slightly, relieved.

And then, he collapsed.


	8. Chapter 8

**"Midnight in Heliopolis"**

**Chapter Eight**

"Done." The biobed powered down. Scott gingerly picked a stray black, curly hair off his sleeve. "Should be it."

"Your modified tricorder states that the psionic energy has ceased."

Scott stared. "Just like that?"

"Indeed." Spock handed him the tricorder.

The engineer studied the readout, leaning in towards the unidentified body. "You're right. Huh. Looks like there's a residual reading in his brain, but that's fast fading." He looked at Spock with a half-hearted grin. "I guess we should tell the Captain."

* * *

"He's sleeping. For real this time." McCoy blocked access to Kirk's personal quarters with crossed arms. "What did you find over there?"

"A body hidden in a transport case with a surgical-class biobed. The biobed had been activated by the individual before it expired."

"Individual? Not human?"

"Not any race that I have encountered before, though considering its presence within the requisition and supply system, it may be safe to assume that whatever species it represents is at least known to Starfleet, if not yet recorded in our databases."

"I'll take a look at the body. If we brought it back."

"Once the psionic energy dissipated, I made the decision to return the corpse and its resting place to the Enterprise for further study. The _Bradbury_ will have to do without its biobed for the time being."

"Rough. They'll be fine." McCoy took the offered tricorder.

"Reading of the body."

The doctor skimmed the results, then went back and focused on certain screens. "Looks like you picked up some distinguishing features in the brain, an auxiliary cortex, where the psionic energy was being generated. Some neurotransmitters I don't recognize."

"Doctor, is it feasible that this being is indeed telepathic?"

"Hell, I'd say his brain is built around it. You said the biobed was on?"

"Correct. The psionic interference diminished and dissipated as soon as it was deactivated."

"This guy's brain activity was being stimulated and preserved by the bed's automatic systems. Just a guess, but when a humanoid dies, brain activity can continue for hours, days after death. If all this pans out the way I assume it will, there's a good chance that the residual neurons continued firing thanks to the biobed. When you unplugged it, you unplugged him."

"We killed him?" Scott spoke up finally, surprise raising his voice slightly.

"No, Mister Scott." McCoy held up the tricorder. "If what this thing says is true, and I've never known one to lie, then he was dead a long time ago. The electrical impulses and neurotransmitter chemicals were still firing, that's all. Fear was probably the last thing on his mind. I'd bet the farm the catalyst for the nightmares suffered by the crew."

"Eh, it's over, then?"

"You tell me, Mister Scott."

"I'd sure like to know what the hell happened."

"We will make all the necessary reports, Mister Scott, and comply with Starfleet's orders. Since this act did not occur on the _Enterprise_ but at the starbase instead, we have little grounds to insist on involvement." Spock tipped his head.

"Well, that's not very bloody helpful."

"I'm just as curious as you are. Which is why I'm going to pull as much information from the body as I can before the investigative goons take it away." McCoy kept the tricorder. Scott kept up with him, holding out the one he had modified. "The hell is this now?"

"Oh, jus' your neural scanner. From Chekhov. I borrowed it."

"Borrowed it? You took it apart!"

Spock listened to the two men banter, standing in front of Kirk's door. The last twelve hours had proven to be most exciting. Now he had to deal with a private quandry, a loose end he had not yet been able to tie off: his own central role.

He was about to take his leave when the doors slid open and a rather haggard Kirk leaned out, arm up against the doorframe.

"I can hear your gears squeaking."

"Doctor McCoy said you were sleeping."

"How could I be? You three were as loud as rabid howler monkeys. God, I've been hanging around Bones too long." He turned and walked stiffly back to his bed.

Spock stepped inside and allowed the doors to slide shut behind him.

"What's on your mind?"

"I am still a bit perplexed by the events of today."

"No kidding." Kirk gestured to a chair. "I feel like my brain is leaking out my ears."

"I should let you sleep."

"Look, Spock, the last thing I want to do right now is be alone." The sudden, blunt honesty took the Vulcan back slightly. "At least stick around until I pass out."

"I will do so." Spock sat.

Kirk stared at the wall and rubbed his face. "Is this what we have to look forward to? Five years of crazy, off-the-wall shit like this?"

"Would you rather we return to Starfleet?"

"No. No, not for a while. Lot of bad memories there."

Spock let Kirk process before speaking, albeit with a touch of hesitation.

"Captain, would you like me to take care of the report?"

The flash of pain that passed over Kirk's face was immediate and quick, but he compensated. "Yeah, if you would. Just don't lose me my ship again." He chuckled, but Spock heard no mirth. Instead, the Captain deflected. "You still didn't answer me, what's on your mind?"

"I am still a bit confused as to my own role in 'center stage,' as Doctor McCoy put it."

Kirk chuckled. "You don't know?"

"Enlighten me."

"Spock, you're important to us. Uhura, me, Chekhov. We respect you." The weary captain grinned slightly. "Who the hell else am I going to run to when the ship is falling down around my ears?"

"So, ultimately, it is flattery."

"Sure, if you want to see it that way." Kirk rolled onto his back.

"I was under the impression that perhaps it was due to my unique physical characteristics, somehow I, too, resonated with this psionic broadcast and was imprinted into these shared dreams." Spock folded his hands and leaned forward. "Does this mean, then, that all of you feel the same way?"

Kirk snored.

Spock paused, stood, and took a hold of the blanket. Kirk was laying on half of it. The Vulcan laid what he could across his friend's body and returned to his seat across the room.

"Good night, Captain."

"Night, Spock."

_~fin~_


End file.
